Thaddeus' Best Friend
by Psychicbyinternet
Summary: Milo comes back to visit everyone on the team.  But Whitmore isn't who everyone thought he was.  He reveals his secrets to Milo out of guilt, secrets that he doesn't want to tell and that Milo doesn't want to hear.  Epic, violent fight at the end!


This story should be quite entertaining. This time I even have musical suggestions. Trust me, they work well with the story…

1st section: "This Lamb Sells Condos" by Final Fantasy

.com/watch?v=U1kL568eg1w

2nd section: "Music for Pieces of Wood" by Steve Reich

.com/watch?v=Mv_8UaP_QRI

3rd section: "Thinking of You" by Laurie Anderson

_Hi Whitmore,_

_How are you doing these days? Keeping busy? I'm doing great and really enjoying my new life in Atlantis. But I do miss you and everyone on the team, so I'm coming up to pay a visit. I'll visit your house in exactly a week, if that's okay. Also, would I be able to stay the night? You have such a nice house. Mansion, that is. I'm looking forward to seeing you soon. _

_Sincerely,_

_Milo_

Remembering Milo, Whitmore felt a knot in his stomach, a lurking tension that filled his body. It was two in the afternoon and he had forgotten Milo for the entire day so far until he received this letter. A new record. The young man's letter was full of kind words. Preston knew he didn't deserve to be spat on by that boy. Whitmore crumpled up the letter and threw it in the fireplace. The white parchment soon turned brown and black. It crumbled into ash.

He wrote a letter acknowledging Milo's letter and allowing him to stay the night, passing it to his butler Daniel.

"Very good, sir."

Whitmore walked over to his gargantuan fish tank. He stared at his black electric eel. Preston followed it as it swam in circles, cornering a small orange goldfish. It sent a strong electric shock to the little fish and instantly the fish floated down to the bottom of the tank, presumably dead. The eel eagerly followed the goldfish and quickly devoured it, swallowing it whole. Then the black eel continued on its way, swimming in circles again, its hunger satisfied, for now. The goldfish no longer existed. It was as if nothing happened.

"How do you do it?" Whitmore asked the eel rhetorically, "You look so happy. I see you do this every day, and then you sleep all night. How in god's name do you do it? Tell me!"

He began to cry softly, sinking into his favourite easy chair, made with fine German leather.

Daniel returned in time to hear Whitmore, "What's wrong, sir? May I be of assistance?"

Daniel's perfect British accent could cheer up the old man without fail.

"No, no," Whitmore wiped his eyes, watching the eel circling his next victim, an angel fish, "I'm just fine, Dan. I know what to do to solve my problem. I've got a plan."

"Whatever you say, sir. Shall I draw your bath?"

Whitmore looked lost in thought, determined. His eyes twinkled as he reached his epiphany.

"That won't be necessary. Just get me my telephone. I have some planning to do…"

Exactly a week later. 8 pm.

Milo passed through the gate, approaching Whitmore's mansion in his rental car. His jaw dropped in awe. He had been here before. But the sheer size of the estate still took his breath away. The rain viciously splattered the windows of the car. Milo jumped a little when he heard the low shriek of thunder. He parked the car and ran to the front door, trying not to get wet.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK…

Daniel led Milo across the Caravaggio onto the elevator up to Preston's study and aquarium. In the elevator Milo chuckled softly to himself, remembering Helga adjusting his clothes and fixing his hair in the same elevator years ago.

"What's so funny, Mr. Thatch?"

"Oh, nothing," he smiled, "I was just remembering how nervous I was in this elevator the last time I was here. I had no idea what to expect. Some intimidating aristocrat maybe. Turns out I had nothing to fear! Whitmore is such a good man."

Daniel nodded, saying nothing. He gave Milo a strange look. Was it pity? Milo didn't have the nerve to ask.

"Here you are, sir. Mr. Whitmore, your guest has arrived," Daniel said. He took Milo's suitcase and stepped back onto the elevator.

The butler was fighting emotion. He wanted to tell Milo everything, but that would risk his job, his life, maybe his family's lives… He just met the man a minute ago. It was out of his hands. He stepped onto the fourth floor, delivering the suitcase to Milo's room. What was the word again? P.T. something. Oh, yes. P.T. Barnum. "There's a sucker born every minute."

"Whitmore!" Milo ran to Whitmore and hugged him gently.

"Milo, my boy! I trust you found the place alright."

"Mmm hmm. Even after seeing and living in Atlantis, this place is still so… incredible."

He marveled at his surroundings. They both sat at the long table by the aquarium.

"Sherry?"

"Sure, thanks."

Preston poured two glasses and placed them in front of Milo and himself. It was silent for a moment.

"So, am I your first visit?" Preston scrambled to break the silence.

"Um, nope, I've visited Mole, Vinny and Audrey so far."

"Happy to see you?"

"Yup!"

They prattled on about the old team and other things for at least an hour. Maybe more than that. They drank the whole bottle of sherry. This was Whitmore's first taste of alcohol in at least twenty years. Milo had become noticeably tipsy. Whitmore was falling prey to his old addiction and he couldn't stop. He was about to pull out a bottle of scotch when he remembered what he had to do that night. He shouldn't have had a drop of sherry. What was he thinking?

Preston wanted to delay his task further, talk to Milo all night. He wanted to get so drunk that he wouldn't remember who he was, what he did… But that wouldn't make him feel better in the end. He wondered if anything would fix his guilt, his insomnia. His best bet was doing what he planned to do.

So he got up and closed the doors, not locking them.

Milo looked slightly alarmed, "What are you doing, Whitty?"

"I have some secrets to tell you," he said.

The king of Atlantis giggled, "Time for truth or dare. Alright, I'm going first. I'm actually quite the yoga fanatic. I was just too nervous to join you that day. We could do some now, if you want!"

This would be harder than he thought. Milo seemed to have a way with turning everything into a game. He was still a child, in a way.

"That's alright, Miles. This is actually very serious."

Milo looked worried, "What?" he whispered.

Preston's voice shook as he told his story:

"I was really jealous of your grandfather. Now you probably think that I'm just a millionaire who just does good deeds all the time, but years and years ago, decades, I really wanted to be a brilliant archaeologist. I wanted to make the most groundbreaking discoveries. It was my life, my passion, my dream. That was all I wanted. But I couldn't have it. I just didn't have the brains, I guess. Meanwhile old Thaddeus, even though no one seemed to believe him, was discovering the most amazing things. He was so bright, Milo. Just like you."

Milo looked at Whitmore in wonder, "Thanks."

"It was eating me up. I couldn't be happy for him. I tried and it didn't work."

He paused to grab his bottle of scotch. He needed it. After taking a shot of it, he continued.

"I guess I just had a nose for business, not books. So I moved up the ranks at the museum and became a CEO and started my own clothing company, which ended up being really successful. I'm a millionaire now. But that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to make my mark and contribute to the world. I wanted to make a brilliant discovery."

Milo nodded excitedly, knowing the feeling. Thaddeus' heart pounded, he got up and walked to the other corner of the room, his back to Milo. His voice became more agitated.

"But I had absolutely nothing to offer. I was going crazy, popping anti-depressants more often than I brushed my teeth. So. So. So…"

He almost couldn't say it. His heart pounded faster. He'd felt worse before, but he still felt horrible. Milo leaned toward him in suspense.

"So… So… I killed him, Milo."

Milo's eyes grew wide. He shook his head frantically.

"Is this some kind of sick joke? Are you—?"

"Strangled him with some old rope from my fishing boat."

"No, no! No!" it was like he was pleading with Whitmore. He kept saying "No" for a few minutes, building up to a scream and fading to a whisper.

"I should tell you everything, so it all makes sense to you," Whitmore's voice was still shaking, "But there's no excuse." Milo was still in utter disbelief.

"It was actually in this room. I was so in the moment that I poured acid on him, beat him up and shot him with my musket for good measure," Milo's face grew more contorted in shock for each killing method listed by Preston, "He truly died a broken man."

How ironic those words were now. Milo began to weep and Whitmore's words became blurred although he could still hear them.

"I paid the police off, so they couldn't charge me for murder. I felt so guilty I became a recluse. That didn't work, so I tried donating to charity and doing random good deeds. You'd think it would help, but I guess not. I got a shitload of therapy, without actually telling my shrinks the whole story. And then I started drinking again."

Whitmore paused. He could feel the stress seeping back into his body. He put his glass of scotch down and pushed it away.

"Anything I could do to forget. I've tried almost everything. I haven't had a good night's sleep in, in… How old are you?"

Milo looked up, his face an ugly mess of pain, "twenty-seven." One could barely understand him.

"I haven't had a good night's sleep in twenty-seven years. That's your entire life. Anyway, I gave up drinking soon enough and tried yoga. Once again a fucking waste of time. Years later, I decided that I would just have to make it up to you personally. And I remembered the bet that I made with Thaddeus. He never made it to the expedition I had to fund. And I knew you were really interested in continuing Thaddeus' work, probably willing to go on an expedition, which I was right about. I thought this would definitely clear my conscience for the afterlife. And you got everything you ever dreamed of. And more. That princess of yours."

Milo thought of Kida. It was kind of funny. Whitmore took away his grandfather, but he was responsible for him meeting Kida. But he murdered his grandpa. He couldn't forgive him. His grandpa was his only friend back then. His only family. And he could have been alive to see Atlantis if it weren't for Whitmore.

Believing his speech was finished, Whitmore was about to order his martini, but the alcohol made him remember something else that he had to tell Milo.

"Oh fuck. I didn't tell you about…"

"What?" Milo snapped, "What else could there be? You have more? What else could you possibly add to this?" Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Well, it's not twenty-seven years, it's… twenty-five years since I've had a good night's sleep. One night I was drinking and driving and I crashed into this car. My only car crash. And the people in the car were the last people I would have ever expected. The last people I would ever have wanted to see in hospital beds… Julian… and… Rose… Thatch…"

"You… MONSTER!" Milo was shaking with anger, nearly unable to breathe. His hands reached for Whitmore's throat. He was ready to kill Whitmore. A man he used to highly respect. Half an hour ago he would have trusted this man with his life. Whitmore grabbed Milo's arms to protect himself.

"Milo. I'm an empty shell. I'd do anything to fix this for you."

"You would?" he yelled, "You WOULD? You shouldn't have done it in the first place!"

He tried to get Whitmore to let go of his arms so he could shut the man up.

"How could you! You killed my whole family! How can you just stand there? I can't let you live!"

He grabbed Whitmore's neck with all of his strength. But Whitmore punched him in the face and sent him flying to the ground. He crushed the scholar's glasses under his dress shoes and kicked him in the groin. Milo lay there for a few moments, in so much pain, but fighting to get up and kill Whitmore. His lips were stained scarlet with blood. This was the room where his grandfather died. He weakly sat up and then ran toward Whitmore, kicking him in the stomach. It was the old man's turn to fall to the ground. Whitmore grunted painfully. This was the room where his best friend died. Milo searched for a weapon and ended up grabbing a candlestick from the table. Since Whitmore was old and frail, while Milo was scrawny and weak they were quite evenly matched. Milo hit Whitmore with the candlestick a few times, with all his might. Whitmore struggled to fight back. Preston's face started to bleed. It looked almost disfigured. Thaddeus' last words were spoken in this room. He roared and tried to gouge out Milo's eyes with his fingers. Thatch recoiled and kept firing blows at Whitmore. Gaining his strength back he threw Milo across the room. The old man sunk to the ground, body racked with pain. Milo's body met the table they had been sitting at and the decanter was flung into the air. It smashed into thousands of pieces as it met Milo's head. The feeling shards of glass digging into his skin brought tears to the young man's eyes. Whitmore was quickly where Milo was. He took the half-empty bottle of scotch and poured it on Milo. The young man howled and shrieked in complete agony. Milo sunk to the floor and lay there for a long time. He was stiff with anger. This was the room were his grandfather died. At this point there wasn't an atrocity in existence Milo wasn't prepared to commit against that bastard millionaire. But he stopped himself. He cowered and tried to protect his head with his arms. Whitmore heard him sniffling weakly.

"I can't fight you anymore," he whimpered.

"Coward."

"No, I can fight you," Milo said, "but I won't. If I did this any longer, I'd be just like you. I won't sink to your level."

Everything was so blurry without his glasses. Milo couldn't tell if his words had had any effect on Preston, but he continued anyway.

"You are the most selfish person I've ever met. Your jealousy and bad habits killed my family. You are a millionaire. A millionaire. And in your warped mind that wasn't good enough for you."

Whitmore was a ghost in Milo's eyes. The chair was a ghost. The books and carpets were colourful spirits. Everything a giant soup of ambiguity. He truly was helpless without glasses. He didn't see that Whitmore's face gave away his intent. He didn't see that Whitmore had just pulled a gun out of his pocket. He did notice that Whitmore the shadow was moving toward him. His eyes widened in fright.

"Please. No more. I promise I won't tell."

Milo felt cold steel on his neck. A gun. He jumped in shock. Was it all over? Whitmore drew back, still pointing a gun at Milo.

"Ever heard of P.T. Barnum?"

And then the men came in, all dressed in black. Daniel was with them. There were three others. They crowded around Milo and started to rip off his clothes. They took off everything except his white briefs. Milo struggled wildly, pleading with Whitmore. Then they put heavy shackles on his wrists and ankles. And they took him away. They went into the elevator and went up a floor, except for Daniel.

"Where are we going?" Milo was hysterical and still struggling, "Where are you taking me? 

The men were silent. They had to be.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" he cried, "I have a wife. Please don't do this! Please say something!"

Reaching the next floor, Milo saw the top of the aquarium. It was such an enormous tank it occupied two floors. Then he realized he was being led there. He was going to drown there. In the same general room in which his grandfather died. He fought hard, but these men were seasoned bodyguards. They molded him like clay.

One of them opened up the giant lid to the tank. Milo knew it was useless, so instead of fighting he took a deep breath and hoped for a miracle. They threw him into the tank to swim with the fishes.

Down a floor, Whitmore sat at his long table, bloody like a soldier in a hospital ward. But he didn't feel brave or heroic. Daniel did as he was told and served Whitmore his martini. He sipped it calmly as he watched Milo slowly glide to the bottom of the tank. Whitmore watched Milo begging him with his eyes. The linguist thrashed about, banging against the tank with his chest, a final attempt to save his own life. He soon gave up, trying to conserve energy. Whitmore considered it, of course. Saving the poor fellow at the last minute. But that would be disastrous, not to mention impossible. Once you are thrown into the aquarium, they can't get you out. Milo tried to swim to the surface, but the shackles made it impossible. He just kept sinking and sinking, running out of oxygen. He looked completely heartless, sitting there, watching Milo die while he drank his martini, but inside he was dying. The young man had a good set of lungs. He kept trying to swim to the surface, although he was lying at the bottom of the tank.

Suddenly, Whitmore heard the boom of thunder. And then the light went out. The only thing that lit up the room was the gigantic tank of fish. He kept sipping his martini, nearly finished. Milo had stopped breathing. He lay at the bottom of the tank. It almost looked like he was sleeping. The aquarium was an Atlantis of sorts, after all. If they could rescue him he could still be revived at this point. But in a few minutes, it would be over. It might as well be over for Milo right now, because it was impossible to get people out of the tank.

"Well, he's dead now." Preston figured it wouldn't be long before the feeding frenzy began, a battle between the sharks, piranhas and eels. He turned away from the tank. He didn't want to look anymore.

The last of the Thatch family. Whitmore had killed the entire Thatch family!

He gave Daniel his empty martini glass. An entire family, half of it done away with in the room he was standing in. He was an animal back there. Fighting with his best friend's grandson. Fighting to kill.

"Why did I think this would make me feel better?" he bellowed. He threw a nearby chair across the room.

"I just killed… a whole family. How many people can say they've done that? I'll be in 'Ripley's Believe it or Not.' The most selfish man in the world."

He sobbed. It was all his fault. All this bloodshed.

"Should I kill Kida now? And her siblings? And what next, all of Atlantis? And then everyone in Washington? I think I know what God is trying to tell me. If that damn motherfucker exists. From day one, from that car accident, I've screwed myself over. I was going to hell from the beginning."

He locked all the doors.

"Would've saved myself a lot of grief if I did this earlier."

He took one last glance around the room, taking in his final sights. His eyes stopped at Milo.

"I could have saved him, everyone…"

He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.


End file.
